The Thrall of Darkness
by Inara
Summary: Due to unrequited love, Ginny Weasley betrays all those whom she holds dear. WARNING: This fic is rather dark, unpleasant, nasty, and perhaps even vicious.


**Title:** The Thrall of Darkness  
**Author name:** Inara  
**Author email:** Inara47@yahoo.com  
**Category:** Angst  
**Sub Category:** Drama  
**Main Characters:** Ginny Weasley, Voldemort, with appearances of several others.

**Rating:** R

**Pairing**: A big mess.  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF  
**Story** **Summary:** Due to unrequited love, Ginny Weasley betrays all those whom she holds dear. 

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a piece of fiction based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and her various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes: **This fic has been inspired by Dibin. This story is most likely AU. It is rather dark, unpleasant, nasty, and perhaps even vicious. Please do not read if you have any misgivings. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Even the most complicated and wretched of endings have simple beginnings.

                Had I known the path my life – and everyone else's – would have taken, perhaps my choice of ending would have been different.

                It began as a small step that did not seem like it would lead anywhere else. Loving Harry was easy, and had I stayed on the path to love and be loved in returned, it might have gone differently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Loving Harry was easy. He was sweet, handsome in a very understated sort of way, generous, loyal, and even smart. Harry Potter was perfect. I loved the way he would push his hair out of his eyes, thereby giving everyone a peek at the famous scar, I loved the way he would walk around in clothes several sizes too large for him, and I loved the way he would come to the Burrow and say, "Hullo, Ginny."

                I knew I loved him ever since I had seen him at the train station as he tried to figure out how to get onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. And I knew that if I waited patiently, that if I remained steadfast in my devotion to him, he would come to me one day and love me back.

                So I waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                But just as it had been easy to love Harry, it was also easy to fall prey to despair when years went by, and he still only ruffled my hair, grinned, and said, "Hullo, Ginny." I would watch as he spent time with older witches, such as the glamorous Cho Chang, the brilliant Hermione Granger, the beautiful Lavendar Brown, and the exotic Parvati Patil. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Despair was only another tiny step from bitterness. For the next few years, it was my constant – and only – companion. Unlike my more popular brothers, I had no close friends. After all, who would want to be friends with the girl whom Tom Riddle had seduced? I felt disgusted at myself, that I was not as beautiful, smart, or clever enough to be worthy enough of the only man I had ever wanted to be worthy of.

                By the time I had graduated from Hogwarts, I had taken so many tiny steps away from loving Harry and having him love me back that I could not even see it anymore. And I most certainly didn't know how to get to it from where I had ended up. My pure love for Harry had morphed into lust, twisted with anger, jealousy, and resentment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                It was Harry's twentieth birthday, and in his honor, Ron was throwing him a large party. Even I was invited. 

                Perhaps I thought that this birthday would be a turning point, but that illusion was quickly shattered when I saw Harry kissing Susan Bones, Cho Chang, and Parvati Patil in succession. Long, passionate kisses that he was supposed to be giving me. 

                And when it was my turn to be kissed, he only mussed my hair and said, "Hullo, Ginny." Then he kissed the next girl waiting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I wasn't very surprised when HE found me. 

                I had been drinking at a dimly lit cantina that not even my brothers would frequent, a place where the most common spell was "Avada Kedavra." As I tried to drown my sorrows, I knew, deep down, that I really wanted to drown myself. So when two handsome young men approached me and said that their master wanted to see me, I followed them outside, for although I was sober enough to recognize them as enemies, I was drunk enough not to care. 

                He was waiting for me in a secluded house in the outskirts of the village. Apparently he had finally managed to maintain the outward appearance of a human – in fact, his old appearance over fifty years ago. But his eyes remained as snakelike as ever, and he was still a hideous creature of the dark.

                Yet still I felt that magnetic pull towards him. Regardless of who and what he was, he understood the dark feelings within me. 

                I called him Tom, and although that was his Muggle name, he still permitted me – and only me – to call him that. 

                "You want him." His voice was seductive, and it sent thrills through my body. He took a deep drink from a mug to his side…and became Harry. And even though I felt self-loathing fill me, I allowed Tom to give me what I so craved. 

                When it was over, he whispered to me again, "I can be him…but only for a price." He wrapped Harry's arms around me. "You want him, and so do I. I will be him for you, but you must bring him to me."

                It was then that I understood the nature of the bargain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I tried to put that episode behind me, but my need for Harry grew. It grew until I was going to Tom almost every week. And every week, our sessions would become rougher, as he demanded information while I tried to punish myself. I would leave these sessions tear-wrecked and bruised. 

                I felt dirtier as well because I discovered how good it felt when my pretend Harry hurt me – because it made it more realistic. Because I knew that the real Harry would hate me for what I had become. And for some perverse reason, suffering his anger felt better.

                I told my family and colleagues that I had taken to playing Quidditch with some friends, which cleared away any questions regarding my appearance. But I never allowed anyone to touch me anymore, except for Tom, because I knew they would smell another person on me, because although I had the feel of Harry upon my body, not even Tom could duplicate his smell.

                Hatred came to me all too easily in those days, and soon I stopped giving flimsy excuses to my family, just as I stopped caring what they thought. It was much easier than facing them, especially when I had just returned from betraying them.

                Betraying them for cheap longing that made me feel sick and unclean.

                Even when the sessions grew worse, when the illusion of passion and love had disappeared, I still went to Tom. It soon became about my pain, about my guilt in thinking I could cheat at love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I wish Tom had put me under the Imperius curse. Then at least I would have been content with the knowledge that I had no choice.

                But I made this choice on my own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                It would be wrong of me to say that I was only thinking of Harry. In many ways, Tom was the most important man in my life. He had held me in thrall since I was eleven years old, and I have never been free of him, indeed, had never wanted to be free of him. It isn't an easy thing to admit, that I, the only daughter of Arthur and Molly Weasley, youngest sister to the loyal and good Weasley brothers, friends with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived…

                Loved darkness.

                I loved dark men. I loved their dark powers. I especially loved their dark and twisted morals.

                From Severus Snape, to Draco, even to Lucius Malfoy himself, I had loved them all in my own secret way.

                But I loved Tom Riddle the most. I even accepted his Voldemort persona. Because that's who he was.

                And this is who I am.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                The week before my nineteenth birthday, Harry and Hermione announced that they were seeing each other. To everyone, this was a sign in favor of the Light. That two people, in their seemingly eternal quest to save the fate of the world, were able to find love in each other. And their love was pure, untainted by the darkness that threatened to overwhelm them. 

                As I had been overwhelmed.

                I welcomed the darkness with wide-open arms, and recognized it and drew it close to me, just like a cold body wraps a cloak around himself. The darkness filled my cold heart, and it gave me a twisted sort of warmth, as the fires of anger lit my heart.

                I found myself in Draco Malfoy's lavish apartments, as I, alternately crying and swearing, paced treads in his deep carpets. He soon became my confidante because in the end, there was no one else. I certainly could not tell Harry, and I was sure neither Hermione nor Ron would appreciate my bitter ravings. But Draco, with his own knowledge of my situation, had the ability to _understand_. He was aware of my sessions with Tom, just as he was aware of my feelings for Harry. No one had ever told him, but he had observed it over the long years of our acquaintance. 

                He would sit in a couch of black leather, his entire soul hidden by those icy cold eyes, eyes that acted as glasses that allowed him to see out but not permit anyone else to see in. And Draco would absorb everything that came out of my mouth, everything that was revealed through my frenzied hand movements, and then he would hold me and assure me that I was still human. Then I would leave and be normal for a little while.

                And later still, when my sessions with Draco became even more tearful, I uncharacteristically began to scream my rage at Hermione, who without doing anything, had managed to attract some of the most powerful wizards in the world, from Viktor Krum, to Harry, and to Ron.

                Although Draco held me again, this time I felt him tremble within my own arms, and I felt his jaws clench in my hair.

                And I knew that Draco's life was becoming untied as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Because he was so powerful, Tom was able to maintain the effects of the Polyjuice potion for a very long time. And thanks to the fact that Harry's hair was all over the Burrow, there was always enough to keep me satisfied. Once, Tom spent an entire week with me as Harry. And for that brief week, I pretended that Tom really was Harry, and that we were living together because we loved each other.

                But Tom was not Harry.

                This was always hammered home to me when Tom would raise his head and say, "Virginia." Because in this time and place I was Virginia. Because he knew that Virginia and Ginny were two different people, one a mistress to the Dark Lord, the other a young girl hopelessly in love with Harry Potter. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                A month later, my time with Draco didn't eradicate the bitterness within me. A part of that anger remained buried inside me, like a seed. And as I would watch Harry watch Hermione, the seed sprouted and grew into twisted, dark vines. 

                The vines grew, and though at first I ignored them, later I would nurture them by feeding them with more darkness and anger.

                I had poison ivy growing inside me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                After a particularly rough evening with Tom, I went home that night for a family pre-wedding celebration, and my family was horrified to see me covered in bruises. Again, I claimed that I had played a rough game of Quidditch, which everyone believed all too readily. Perhaps that should have upset me, that this loving family of mine failed to notice that the Dark Lord was abusing their only daughter – and that she was allowing him to.

                But I had ceased having any real feelings, so I trudged up to my room with the flimsy excuse of resting although I had really wanted to escape the happy atmosphere downstairs. 

                Harry followed me because of everyone, only he had recognized something of the darkness. "What's wrong, Ginny?" 

                I flinched. My name didn't sound like my name any longer. "I'm just tired."

                "You weren't playing Quidditch." His voice had become flat, and for one second, he became less of the Harry that I had fantasized over. He stepped closer. "You've spent a lot of time with Malfoy."

                I sighed in relief. If only he knew that it was actually Malfoy's master. "So what if I did?"

                "He's hurting you, Ginny!" Harry's voice grew anguished, and for some inexplicable reason, the anger in my heart awoke from its dormant state. 

                "And what do you care, Harry?" 

                He stumbled back as if I had struck him. "Oh, Ginny." His eyes grew wide. "Of course I care." His voice gentled, and he drew me into his arms as he had done countless times before.

                The anger cooled down, if only for a little while. _Just a few more seconds of this hug_, I promised myself. _And then I'll back away and leave_.

                But it wasn't simple hug. It was more like a lover's embrace, in the way his arms held me a little bit closer, the way his body cradled mine, the way he allowed me to place my head in the crook of his shoulder. 

                And then he said my name. "Virginia."

                Perhaps if he had called me Ginny, things might have been different. But he had called me Virginia, thereby reminding me exactly who Virginia was. So I shifted closer to Harry, dispelling any doubts of a friendly embrace. 

                I had been naïve to think that everything would be all right now, that now that I had Harry's attention, I could step back onto that path of love. But life was painful, and I soon realized how painful it could be.

                The door opened then, and Hermione opened to door to see Harry wrapped around me in a way that could not be misinterpreted. Her eyes widened, the hurt apparent in her brown eyes. Harry's arms around me dropped, and the indecision in his eyes was clear.

                "Go after her!" My voice was remarkably calm. And though I still felt flushed, though my stomach was fluttering, Harry's embrace had been nothing compared to Tom's.

                I finally knew that the Harry of my dreams and the Harry of reality were two different people, just as I was two different people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Harry and Hermione fought that night. It had started quietly, but soon, the entire Burrow could hear the shouts and curses. Finally, one of them had enough presence of mind to use a muffling spell, but the Burrow echoed with their voices for the rest of the night.

                Soon after, their relationship dissolved, and I couldn't help wondering if they separated because of me. But surely not. Hermione was too levelheaded to allow her future to be shattered by the embrace of a pathetic girl.

                According to Draco, my incomplete seduction of Harry was only the tip of what was a very large iceberg. And perhaps that was true, that I was only the catalyst in a highly explosive situation. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Hermione had found her way to my brother's more understanding – and safer – arms. Ron, after all, had loved her for many years, just like I had loved Harry. But unlike me, he wasn't sleeping with the Dark Lord to have his love fulfilled.

                Harry was heart-broken, of course, but he held hope that Hermione would come back to him. He wouldn't talk to me either, but that was just as well, for I don't think I could have born talking to him, to see the despair in his green eyes. 

                Tom left me alone in the following days, and Draco was away with his father's business. Most likely Death Eater matters that I should have told my father about. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Harry finally came to see me at my small flat. He came the traditional way, by knocking on my door, although he just as easily could have apparated or used the Floo. After hesitantly welcoming him inside, he sat down on a worn-down armchair timidly.  

                We made small talk for awhile, and then we lapsed into silence, which wasn't broken until, "You look so very lovely today."

                My head whipped around to see Harry gazing at me intently. He stood and made his way over to me. "Harry," I whispered. He cupped my chin in his hand, and for the longest while, he only stroked the soft skin of my throat. He was gentle.

                He was not Tom. He was the _real_ Harry.

                Harry whispered my name. "You can make everything all right. I know that you can."

                _You can make everything all right_. Was he so sure? How could I save him when I was lost myself? When I had already sold my soul to the devil? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Draco Malfoy arrived at my flat that very minute, only to be surprised by Harry Potter standing in front of me. An unspoken thought passed between the men, and within a second, they stepped into the kitchen.

                I remained behind as I finally started to cry.

                "She doesn't need you, Potter!" That was Draco, his icy voice trembling in anger. "She doesn't need what you did to Granger."

                I could feel the tension rise in the kitchen. "Leave Hermione out of this," ground out Harry. 

                "I can't leave Granger out of this. Because everything has to do with her! Now that you've decided to move in on little Ginny, what are you going to do now that Granger has left the Weasel?"

                Harry gasped. "Hermione…left Ron?"

                The sneer in Draco's voice is palatable. "Yes. So are you going to walk back in there and tell your new girlfriend that it's over before it's even begun?"

                "At least I haven't hurt her!"

                "Out of everyone, you've hurt her the most!" 

                I clapped my hands over my ears. "SHUT UP!" I screamed. "JUST STOP!"

                I ran. I ran as fast as I could.

                I ran to Tom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                He was waiting for me, as I had known he would. And for the first time, Tom kept his own form. 

                Perhaps the sex should have felt dirty, and perhaps it was. But at least I finally saw Tom's face as he was crouched over me…at least it wasn't Harry's face, which I knew could now never be. 

                That morning Tom gave me an ultimatum, that I fulfill my part of the bargain. I had conveniently managed to forget my payment, but he reminded me all too quickly. I was ordered to lure Harry Potter to him to a secluded spot in one month's time, or he would send proof of my betrayals to my family. I didn't even ask what sort of proof. Tom was not the Dark Lord for nothing, 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I stood in an empty field on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. It had been a mistake to come home. Ron, who had loved Hermione secretly for most of his life, was now dead. The blow that Hermione had dealt him had finally driven him to the edge. 

                But Harry and Hermione had not reconciled either. Harry had left with Sirius Black, and now no one knew where they were. Hermione had accepted a Ministry assignment in Japan. 

                The Golden Gryffindor Trio had done the unthinkable – they had split apart. They had been like a sturdy rock, tough and resistant to the most dangerous of changes.

                But I was like water, and I had slipped into the cracks. And when I froze, the rock broke into pieces.

                I screamed under the moon. The scream ripped out of me, it ripped my innards and the big gaping hole that was my heart. The scream tore my vocal cords, but I didn't care. I screamed and screamed and screamed.

                I screamed for my loving, dead brother. I screamed for the insufferable know-it-all. I screamed for the boy whom I had written a valentine for in my first year. And I screamed for myself. Because I had betrayed them. 

                Because the poison ivy within me had managed to poison those around me. 

                Because it's all my fault.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I stared at the clock in our living room. 

                Fifteen minutes until four. 

                Ron's funeral took place this morning, and several people milled the house. My family was here and there, as they tried to move on beyond Ron's death. 

                But not all of us could. 

                Hermione was weeping upstairs in my bedroom.

                Harry sat in an armchair near the fire.

                And I had a meeting with Tom in exactly fifteen minutes, where I was supposed to bring Harry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                Leaving was my only option. 

                After all, there is nothing more onerous than betrayal, and it was as deep as a river. A river that had been filled with hatred and jealousy. 

                But as much as I tried to forget, I did remember that I had started on the path to love and be loved in return. And I knew that I couldn't betray Harry anymore than I already had. 

                I only wrote two notes. One was addressed to my family, with the simple message that I would be all right. But the second one was to Harry, and although I had enough words to fill several scrolls, I settled for a simple "I am sorry." Written in blood.

                I gathered a set of traveling clothes, all the money I possessed, and I walked out the door that was my life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                My feet led me to the northern plains of Siberia. With my pale skin, and a short spell that changed the color of my hair, I was able to blend in with the Russian Muggle locale. I was more than thankful that I had learned Russian from one of the exchange students at Hogwarts in my sixth year, because if I had used a language charm, my accent would have been even more obvious.

                Siberia was cold. 

                It was like my insides.

                So I stayed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I hated myself for killing my dreams. For killing myself for twisted lust and a fairy tale. 

                But some part of me is happy because it was only me.

                I hadn't killed Harry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                I was Ginny.

                I was Virginia.

                I was poison ivy.

                I was a catalyst.

                I was water.

                I was dead.

*End*


End file.
